


The Hardest Thing In The World Is To Live In It

by miriad



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriad/pseuds/miriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Stiles, Scott, and Allison enact their plan to save their parents, they not only make Beacon Hills an actual beacon for the supernatural, they've opened up an actual Hellmouth.  Buffy and Co. head out to investigate just who the hell opened the new gate and why.  Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Teen Wolf season 3, episode 11 - Alpha Pact
> 
> This is a work in progress, a plot bunny that bit me and won't let me go. (sigh)

The new chemistry teacher was a woman. Short, kind of hot, red hair. Ms. Rosenberg. She wrote her name on the board, chalk scraping in a mildly pleasant way as she added her e-mail address below it- the general school assigned teacher’s e-mail address, w.d.rosenberg@bhhs.edu. Clapping her hands together once, Ms. Rosenberg turned to the class and smiled widely, her eyes a bit manic.

“Oh, boy,” Stiles muttered, wiping a hand down his face, dread running through him. “Here we go again.” He was done with crazy teachers, just done. If this was another one ready to go at them, he was moving. He’d heard Toledo was nice in the spring.

“A little about myself, I’m originally from California, Sunnydale. Yes, that Sunnydale. I’ve spent some time in England, most recently in Ohio and Missouri, with a little bit of exploring in Africa. I have a passion for chemistry and am looking forward to sharing that with you.”

“What Sunnydale?” Scott leaned over, whispering at his normal not quiet at all level.

“The Sunnydale that sank into the ground in the giant sinkhole Sunnydale? We were like, seven when it happened.” Stiles passed on the info but stared at the teacher, more interested in the way that her eyes sparkled when she talked about her love of chemistry. There was something about the way she said it, the way that it seemed to be a joke, a gag. 

“Oh.” Stiles saw Scott lean back out of the corner of his eye, still focused on Rosenberg in front of him. Something was bothering him, was pinging at him. He rubbed at his sternum, at his chest, where the bruise had been but no longer was, from when they’d been brought back. From when they’d died. Stiles felt the skin warm from him rubbing it, imagined it was getting red, getting raw. He didn’t stop. 

“I’m hoping to jump in and get you all caught up to the chemistry curriculum without rushing and without losing anyone, so please feel free to ask questions, to e-mail me, and to use the class message board system- I’m online all the time and am always willing to answer questions and walk you through problem sets. Any questions? Okay, let’s get started.”

As she turned back to her desk, to a stack of papers that he assumed were assignments, Stiles realized what it was he recognized about her. She had the same sparkle in her eye that Deaton had when he talked about magic and that made his stomach clench up. 

Stiles was more than tired of secret, magic teachers. He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it with his thumb and started texting one-handed under the desk, trying not to draw any more attention than he had to. He had to let people know before this got any further than it already had.

*

Willow noticed the kid right away. He had the eyes, the sharp eyes that they’d always had, back in the day. The eyes of a kid that knew things. She knew eyes like that, she’d seen them in the mirror. 

Stilinski, the seating chart said. Next to McCall. Both names on the list Buffy had from the Watcher’s Council. Names of people who had called forth the Hellmouth.

He looked like she had, back in the day. Of course, back in the day, she’d flayed a man alive, so that didn’t mean a whole lot. Willow would need to watch that one. Would need to keep an eye out until they could organize an official meeting with them. She was just here as an observer, at least for the moment. That could and would change, if Stilinski there made it.

Willow got the lab set up, had them partner up for simple work, and even though she could feel Stilinski’s eyes on her, she ignored it. Willow knew what she looked like, knew she had a wide eyed naiveté to her that had long been part of her cover. She let him look, let him think that she was something that she wasn’t- innocent, ignorant, blind to his attention- and just kept teaching.

Willow hadn’t ever intended to be a teacher and the reality was, she wasn’t actually a teacher by trade. But it was helpful to have teaching certificates and the Council had members who were certified in all fifty states, most of the Canadian provinces, many of the states in Mexico, and throughout most of England. They worked with other nations as needed, and it had worked well for them. 

When the Hellmouth had made its appearance in northern California at roughly the same time that the teaching positions had opened up, Buffy and Willow had shared a look and started digging into things, knowing that it couldn’t possibly be as coincidental as it appeared. It wasn’t.

Willow sent in her application and had her mother send in a good word for her as well, knowing that her mother’s reputation would precede her, plus Willow’s CV was pretty damn impressive at this point. Oxford and the Sorbonne amongst the list or research fellowships, multiple doctorates behind her name in the ten years since Sunnydale had sunk into the dirt- Willow Rosenberg was quite the catch.

So what did she want with Beacon Hills?

She missed California, she’d said, eyes wide and sad, and she was looking for something a bit less stressful after her latest research project had just completed. She was looking for a chance to reconnect with her roots but since her roots were a giant hole in the ground, Beacon Hills was as good a place as any.

She’d hit all the major buttons, and with her credentials and her willingness to take the low ball salary they’d offered her, she was in.

Teaching chemistry to high school juniors, which was much more fun than she was expecting it to be. She found herself getting caught up in the class, the smells of chemicals and the pull of learning making the time pass by much faster than she was expecting. The buzz of the alarm on her phone against her hip was a jolt to her system, startling her enough to make her jump in place.

“Woah, guess I lost myself a bit, there. Time to clean up! If you didn’t finish the experiment, that’s okay. Take good notes and we’ll finish up next class period. Be sure to clean up your materials and equipment, per the clean-up sheet in your lab packets.” Willow made a few laps of the room as they followed her instructions, watching and making notes, of those who were good at chemistry, those who were okay but would need a little help, and those who were going to need a lot of assistance just get a passing grade.

Stilinski and his friend, they were the first team done with the lab, the first group done cleaning up, and after taking a quick glance at their paperwork, the first team to get everything correct on the worksheet. Smart, too, or at least one of them was. Willow bet her money on Stilinski. McCall kept looking out the window, bouncing his leg, doodling in the margins of his notebook, his friend still staring at her.

No, Stilinski was the brains of that operation. He was the one to watch out for.

The bell rang and McCall was out of his seat and out the door with a wave and a smile to Stilinski, who was slow and steady out of his own seat.

“Homework’s on the board, don’t forget,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din of kids scrambling to get to the next class. Stilinski caught her eye once more and didn’t blink as he looked at her. She didn’t blink either, letting everything drop for just a moment, the real Willow coming out.

It was a risk, but maybe it was better to just let him know who and what he was dealing with. The rush of power through her limbs felt like cool water on a hot day, the warmth on her skin like gentle sunshine in the spring. She smiled gently at him, now the last kid in her class, her next class not sue in for another five minutes.

“Need something, Stiles, is it?” She smiled and it felt like her teeth grew longer in her mouth but she knew they hadn’t. Willow wouldn’t let them. 

“No. No, thanks.” He picked up his books like his desk was on fire and spun on the heel of his Chuck Taylor All-Stars.

“Not yet,” Willow muttered, to herself, letting the pencils on her desk levitate and spin slowly clockwise, the chalk spinning counterclockwise, the effect oddly beautiful in her peripheral vision. “But you will, kid. Trust me.”

*

“New teacher is something. Not sure what, but she’s something.” Stiles kicked the couch with his foot, chewing on the edge of his thumb with an almost singular focus. Allison smiled at him, pushing his hand away from his mouth as she leaned over to grab for the chips.

“Who? Ms. Rosenberg? I like her.” She winked at Scott when he held the bag up for her and she pulled a single chip out of the bag.

“You would.,” Stiles huffed, his thumb back up at his mouth in less than thirty seconds.

“Of course she would. Rosenberg’s smart and she’s fabulous. What’s not to like?” Lydia’s hair, held up by a series of pens that she had stolen from Stiles over the course of the day, the number large enough that he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to finish his Civics homework.

“She gave me this look today. Not Jennifer Blake creepy, but it was creepy. Like, Deaton creepy-“  
“Hey,” Scott said, pushing up on his elbows, his face screwed up in a gentle scowl.

“Dude, come on, I love the guy but Deaton is creepy. And Rosenberg, she has that same eye thing, the creepy eyes.” Stiles pointed at his own eyes, leaning forward on the couch, both feet solidly on the floor.

“Do you think she’s someone we should worry about?” Allison sat forward, too, scooting closer to Stiles, their thighs touching on the cushion, her hand on his shoulder. Scott looked up at them both, scowl turned to worry, eyes open wide. Stiles heard what Allison wasn’t saying- should we call my father? Should we investigate? Should we look into this like we should have looked into everyone else before?

The larger question was there, hanging over them- how do we not make the same mistakes that we made before? How do we not put everyone we know and love in danger?

“I think,” Stiles said, trying to be as slow and careful as he could be, his breath slow and steady in his chest, his hands steady on his knees, his eyes flitting over to meet Lydia’s, “that we can’t take any chances. Not anymore.”

*

“So, they’re coming here? Do we have dip? Do we need dip? Do we have chips?” Buffy paced a bit in the living room of the rental, the plush carpet squishy under her shoes. “I like this carpet. Xander, we need to look into this when we get home. Good stuff.”

“Buffy.” Willow, voice muffled from behind the pages of a book, business not pleasure, much to her annoyance, sounded a lot like Giles. Buffy decided not to mention it, at least not yet. It was a great bit of ammo for later, when Willow was really riled up.

“You need something to dip in dip, right? Veggies are healthier, but chips are tastier. Xander, thoughts?” Buffy’d set out some drinks, the ice already sweating on the counter, but she hadn’t thought about the food she’d offer. There might be fighting and food always made a mess-0 what kind of mess did she want to clean up later? Chips she could vacuum up, but dip would require scrubbing, or paying someone else to scrub and that was never good. But dip tasted so good. Decisions, decisions.

“I bought both, so we’re good.” Xander’s feet were up, in front of the TV, a root beer in his hand, remote in the other. 

“Cookies?”

“Yup.”

“The iced ones with the sprinkles and the neon frosting-“ She stood in front of the TV at that point, blocking the view of the screen he had with his good eye.

“Come on, Buff, I’m trying to get caught up on Game of Thrones, you know that I missed all those episodes when we were in Brazil and you said that I could watch’em if I built that thing for Rosette-“ He tried to lean around her but she bobbed and weaved to stay in his way. Willow, trying to play her part as best friend, threw a cheese ball at Buffy’s head, catching it in a curl.

“Buffy, they’re coming tonight and I wanted to have at least a week to really research and dig in-“ Willow held her book aloft in one hand, the bowl of cheese puffs in the other, symbols of researching and digging in.

“You said it yourself, Will. You gave him the weird Willow eyes. They’re coming. I can feel it.” And with that, Buffy tilted her head, something outside catching her Slayer hearing, the cheese puff still clinging to her hair. “Huh, they’re actually right on time. Better than we ever were.”

“They’re not actually here, right now. Are they?”

“Leave it to a Hellmouth to produce kids that show up when you think they should.” Buffy marched over to the front door and threw it open, stepping out onto the Welcome mat, and shouted out into the darkness. “Come on out! Seriously, you guys, we know you’re there. We have chips!”

“That’s your selling point? Chips?” Xander was out of his chair, next to the door, just behind the door.

“What? They’re the good ones, right? Why not sell those?” There was the click and whoosh of the firing of a crossbow and instinctually, Buffy’s hand was up, by her face, catching the crossbow bolt before it could fly past her and slam into the wall or into Willow, who had appeared behind her, eyes glowing. “Oh, yeah, Will. Great job not making us look weird, “ Buffy muttered out of the side of her mouth. Through the door she shouted, “Alright, come on out before I come out there and get you myself. And trust me, you don’t want me to drag you in here."

There was a rustle in the bushes, the sound of someone or a couple of someone’s trying to get away and Buffy rolled her eyes. 

“Willow, you got this?”

“Yeah, I got this.” Willow murmured something under her breath, an incantation that Buffy didn’t understand, nor did she really want to, and then there was a bright flash, and three spotlights seemed to appear over three kids out in the yard. Some force, invisible to the eye, held them in place under the lights, unable to move forward or back, or to lift or use any weapons. It was a great little spell, one that Willow had perfected during her time abroad and one that Buffy enjoyed seeing in action every time Willow used it.

Buffy pointed at each of them, one at a time with her “I am the Slayer and I am about to kick your ass” finger and then pointed back at the house.

“You want to spend anytime not as a lawn ornament, you'll spend it in here, now. And you'll eat some chips. Before you break something." She grumbled to herself as she stepped back into the house, snapping the bolt between her fingers. It was a nice one and she almost felt guilty for breaking it, knowing how much of her own budget went to things like that. Almost. She looked over at Willow, whose eyes were still white, power still rippling over his skin. "Shooting at us before we can even introduce ourselves. We didn't even get to show them the Powerpoint!” 

"I know," Willow said, her voice echoing and hollow. "How rude is that? I spent hours on that thing. I even used Grumpy Cat!"

"She used Grumpy Cat, you ungrateful kids! Oh my god, I sound like Giles, Xander, I sound like Giles!" Buffy slapped a hand over her mouth, almost taking her own eye out with the sharp end of the crossbow bolt.

"That's okay, Buff. Could sound like Wesley and then you'd have to… well, no one wants to go there, do we?"

The kids shared a look between them without taking a step forward until one of them, the taller boy shrugged and started walking, clearly the leader and destined to be the most annoying. Had to be Stilinski. 

The other two followed him with reluctance, steps slowed, too, by the spell. The girl, who must be Argent, was still holding the crossbow, looked the most reluctant and Buffy felt for her, she really did. But give a shit, she did not. That left McCall as the other one, the one that smelled a little like wet dog. Werewolf. Interesting.

“Who are you supposed to be, Nick Fury?” Stilinski said as he walked through the entryway, passing Xander who still waited by the door, his handgun drawn, something Buffy hadn't even noticed that he'd done.

“Oh, yeah, never heard that one before. Clever. Glad you could join us and share.” Xander rolled his eye at her and holstered his weapon, heading back to his recliner. "Not that they're here, Buff, I'm going back to my show. Chips are on the counter, dip's out. The khaleesi awaits."

"Whatever, you're the dip." Buffy motioned to Willow once everyone was inside and Willow closed the door with a whoosh of air, not touching it with her body at all. McCall jumped, Stilinski flinched slightly, but only his hands seemed to show it, and Argent, she didn't move a single muscle, although Buffy could see it on her face, the same look that all her newly called slayers had when presented with a situation they knew they weren't going to come out of the same as they walked in to.

"What are you doing here?" Stilinski asked the first question, dressed in almost all black, twigs stuck in his shirt, face streaked with drink, tracking in dust and bugs onto the carpet of her stylish rental. The bravado was outstanding and a few years earlier, Buffy might actually have applauded but she didn’t have time for any of this shit, despite her insistence on the chips, the dip, and the veggies.

"What am I? Oh, forget it, I need some wine." Buffy kicked off her stylish yet affordable boots, dropping down even shorter and headed back to the kitchen, turning her back on a werewolf, clearly giving them what they thought was an advantage. Little did they know. "Will, let'em loose but don't let'em out the front door."

There was a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge, which was supposed to be for post-confrontation but she clearly needed it now. If this was how Giles had felt everyday of her high school career, she had no idea how he hadn't died of liver failure before she reached the age of 21.

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what's going on here. I'd really like an explanation, if I can get one. Who are you?" Allison Argent followed Buffy into the kitchen, the boys trailing behind her. Buffy could hear the credit music for Xander's show start up and while she could see Willow through the door, she knew Willow wasn't paying them any more attention.

Buffy said nothing, working the bottle opener, careful to not break the cork off in the bottle, pouring the wine into the glass steady and smooth, taking a long draw off the glass before turning back to face them, alcohol cool and refreshing on her tongue.

"I'm Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. And you're the three idiots that opened the new Hellmouth. We've got a lot to talk about. Dip?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have a cheese ball in your hair." Stiles pointed to the afore mentioned cheese ball and wiggled his finger around. No way was he actually reaching towards the crazy lady to get it.
> 
> "You're changing the subject. But thanks. Awkward." Buffy picked it out and tossed it behind her without looking. And hit the trash can, nothing but net.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Teen Wolf 03x11 ONLY. I am assuming that Scott is going to become an Alpha. Because the show is as subtle as a brick to the face. This is not a spoiler, just me guessing. After tonight (episode 03x12 airs this evening), I will warn for any spoilers that I choose to use/accept/incorporate into this story.

Chapter 2

"You have a cheese ball in your hair." Stiles pointed to the afore mentioned cheese ball and wiggled his finger around. No way was he actually reaching towards the crazy lady to get it.

"You're changing the subject. But thanks. Awkward." Buffy picked it out and tossed it behind her without looking. And hit the trash can, nothing but net.

Stiles looked her over and determined that she couldn't be more than 5'4" at most. While slightly taller than Lydia, she was built a bit more delicately, and he was never, ever EVER going to say that out loud in front of her. He liked his balls exactly where they were (attached to his body and still on the outside, thank you very much).

"Vampire Slayer, huh." Stiles meant it as a question and winced a little when it came out a bit more derisive than perhaps was wise, given the circumstances. 

"Don't tell me you don't believe in them. You hang with werewolves. Clearly there’s room for a bit more supernatural in your reality."

Stiles jaw dropped as the air seemed to get sucked out of his lungs. "How do you-"

She- Buffy, he guessed, rolling his eyes as he thought the name because, come the fuck on, seriously?- pointed to Scott and raised both eyebrows, then leaned forward to reach for some carrot sticks. "Your buddy there? CLEARLY a werewolf. Once you know what you're looking for, at least. And we? Know what we're looking for."

Stiles could see Allison tense up to his left and Scott doing the same to his right, ready to fight their way out of there if need be. But Stiles was worried- he'd seen Buffy catch Allison's crossbow bolt like it was a gnat, and he'd seen her break it like a tortilla chip, so their odds? Not so good. Talking their way out was probably higher on the list of viable options.

"And who’s 'we' exactly? I'm still not sure I understand." Oh, he got that there were other people in the house, although he would have expected more than just three people based on what he’d seen with Allison’s dad. But if he was right, ‘we’ meant more than just Buffy and her friends in the immediate vicinity. ‘We’ meant a larger body of people, possibly with weapons, money, influence. ‘We’ was dangerous. ‘We’ could be deadly.

"Stiles. It is Stiles, right? Have some chips, some dip, some veggies. Sit on the couch. I'll spill, you'll spill, we'll all spill. It'll be great." She pushed a stack of paper plates towards them.

"Seriously, lady, what is with the dip?"

"She needs to feed people, so just shut up and eat it! God! I'm trying to watch Game of Thrones here!" The guy with the eye patch chimed in from the living room, making Stiles jump, sounding honestly annoyed enough to make Stiles wondering if Buffy wasn't serious about what she was saying. Which made the whole situation that much weirder.

"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that." Scott spoke up for the first time and of course, he had to be a Negative Nelly about everything, Typical.

"What, eating my food?"

"Sharing information with people I don't know. Don't trust." Scott really was like a broken fucking record sometimes, Jesus. Stiles kept his hands by his side but the urge to facepalm himself was so strong it was practically a compulsion. He could see Scott frowning out of the corner of his eye, Stiles not willing to turning his gaze away from Buffy long enough to really look at Scott and see what he fucking problem was.

"So the Alpha can speak." Buffy smirked, licking a stray bit of dip off her lip and turned towards Scott. "Listen to my heart, can you hear it? I'm not going to hurt you, not today anyway. Who knows what the future holds, right Stiles?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you seem like the kind of guy that reads comics or whatever and has all sorts of ideas about alternate timelines or magic or what not, and I'm ready for your kind, buddy. Today, I just have food, some cookies, and a little bit of info to trade. Before you need to make curfew. Oh yeah, I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt. I won’t keep you too late, you can trust me on that at least.”

"Scott, we should at least hear what she has to say. And they we can take it back to the pack to discuss, right?" Allison leaned forward, her face suddenly right there in Stiles field of vision, which he assumed was the point. But she had his attention, and Scott's, and Stiles assumed that she'd asked the question to get Buffy to commit to letting them out of the damn house. 

She'd seen Buffy catch the bolt as well, and Allison was no slouch when it came to danger. Team Human, putting the pieces together, trying to get the plan around so the Alpha (god, it was weird to think of Scott that way) could get on board. Stiles could only hope this would get easier.

"I'll agree to a short exchange of info, as long as we all agree that nothing gets decided without further discussion with the pack." Scott jutted his chin out, his tell that he’d made a decision. Finally, a step forward. Stiles set his shoulders and looked to Buffy for the volley back.

"It's adorable that you think you're in charge here, but whatever gets things done, I guess. Let's sit down, we do have chairs like real people. Adults, even.”

"As opposed to what, fake people?" She ignored Stiles, taking a plate piled high with food and a bottle of water with her into the other room. 

"Come on, hot shot. Grab your grub, and join me and Willow in the parlor." Buffy yelled at them, her voice edging on shrill.

"You guys, seriously! It's the RED WEDDING! You know what this means to me! Could you please keep it down!"

"Good god, Xander! You TAPED IT! Rewind it if you missed something!" A third voice chimed in, annoyed but loving. Stiles could recognize his own kind. And then he realized he could just flat out recognize it. Ms. Rosenberg. 

He reached out to snag Allison with one hand, Scott with the other, pulling them in close for a Team Dark Heart huddle before heading out into enemy territory.

"Ms. Rosenberg is definitely out there-"

"Yeah, Stiles, we know. We saw here when we came in." Allison sighed, like she was tired or annoyed or both. It had been a long day, Stiles would give her that.

"We- what? You did?" He hadn't noticed, too busy paying attention to the tiny blond terror and the dude with the eye patch. He guessed it was a good thing his companion had picked up on the third person in the Slayer's party.

"Yeah, I could smell her here, too." Stiles just looked at Scott, a bit betrayed that his friend hadn't tried to signal him at all to warn him but then again, Scott got distracted and forgot stuff, and he was mentioning it now, so that was something.

"And what does that mean, Scott? That means that she is involved in whatever this Buffy the Vampire Slayer is in to, and that doesn't mean it's good, so can we focus? Please?" Stiles cut at the air with his hands, the rest of him getting twitchy, the weight of the constant darkness he now wore heavy over him like a wet blanket, the air thick around his face, at least it felt that way.

Feeling it wash over him, knowing it was consuming him in a way that was neither healthy nor particularly prudent at the moment, Stiles took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to find the light he knew was inside of him, hidden and small, but there, always there. Brushing against it with his mind, letting it warm him, just for a second, seemed to push the darkness back, at least far enough that the weight lifted off his chest and his hands stopped shaking.

"She doesn't seem evil," Scott said, pressing his shoulder against Stiles, his warmth bleeding through Stiles' shirt. Allison pressed forward, her forehead against Stiles, the fingers of her left hand tangling with his right, and he guessed her right with Scott's left. Stiles reached out for Scott's right hand, completing the circuit, the buzz of electricity passing through them only slightly surprising this time. He guessed eventually he’d get used to it, if they survived that long.

"We're here, guys," Allison said, voice soft but the words backed with steel. "We get what we can and we get out, take everything to Lydia, Derek, and Deaton, and back it all up with research." 

"Agreed." Stiles met her eyes and nodded, understanding everything she wasn't saying as well. They stood together for another minute, linked together by hands and spirits, the darkness surrounding them but not enveloping them, not at the moment.

"No sex in the kitchen! Our deposit doesn't cover that kind of cleaning!" Buffy's voice broke through whatever meditative state the three of them had created. Scott coughed, Allison making that awkward smiley face that she used in front of her dad whenever Scott said something stupid. 

"Guys! RED WEDDING!"

"Xander!"

"Oh my god, we need to get out of here. They're crazier than we are," Stiles breathed the words out, practically under his breath.

"Agreed," Allison said, squeezing his hand in hers, then letting go. The buzz of their connection stopped, like a switch had been flipped and Stiles missed it for a brief second, like he missed the warmth of his blankets in the morning. This, he knew, was something dangerous that he’d have to look in to, later, when danger wasn’t chomping on cauliflower in the next room.

*

Buffy was more than halfway through her veggies when the three kids (God, when did she start thinking of teenagers as kids? When did she get old? Was she old? Did she wear mom clothes? Was she GILES? Oh, god, she was Giles) tromped in, each of them carrying a cookie and a napkin, faces grim.

She shared a look with Willow, who was curled up on the high backed chair in the corner, under the lamp, reading one of the musty books that Buffy was sure was written in Sanskrit or pig Latin or something equally ridiculous. Buffy pointed at the cookies and rolled her eyes in the "kids these days never eat anything healthy, what the hell?"

Willow's eye roll back translated as "well, you did give them a choice and then let them make it unsupervised- why are you surprised?"

Buffy shrugged, chewing on a piece of broccoli, a "whatever, Will, kids are ridiculous and I take no responsibility for this box set."

Picking up a celery stick, she waved it like a conductor's baton and pointed at the overstuffed couch with the mismatched pillows that were far too small. Clearly, whoever had decorated had not hired an interior designer to assist them AND they'd picked everything up from a fire sale at a K-Mart circa 1993. It was the only explanation for pillows that tiny and pastel in this day and age.

Stiles sat down in the exact center, as if he'd measured it, the other two flanking him, pressing against him from hip to shoulder, almost as if he were the Alpha and not Scott. Buffy made a mental note, flicking a quick look over at Willow and based on the little frown on her face, it was clear that Willow had noticed it as well.

Buffy chewed, waited, watched, interested to see what this little trio would come up with. She heard a page turn, Willow gone back to her research, and from the music coming in from the other room, Xander was still watching his show. 

Stiles stared at her, eyes flitting from her face to her plate, back to her face, like he was trying to figure her out from her choice of snack food. The werewolf took in the living room openly although there wasn’t much to see, just some lame prints on the wall that Buffy’s mother would have hated and replaced, even if the house was just a rental, with the girl taking stock of Willow out of the corner of her eye (trying to be subtle but kind of failing, Buffy would have to give her some lessons, and that was saying something). Buffy let them look, trying to take their stock at the same time, watching their reactions as the clock continued to tick on. 

Plus, it was just funny, being on the other side of the table. Couch. Whatever. Who knew she’d make it this far? Certainly not her, not when she was that young and worried about if she’d make it to Prom, and if she’d get to go with the guy (vampire) of her dreams. Some people thought of their high school days as the best of their lives. Those people were out of their fucking minds.

When Stiles started tapping his leg, and his fingers started drumming on his knees, Buffy knew her time was up, their patience had worn thin, and she set her plate on the side table, leaning forward.

"So. You opened a Hellmouth. On purpose, or not? We've got side bets going, money's on the line, so I'm hoping that the answer I want's gonna come out of your mouth in the next little bit. So, spill- why'd you do it and did you mean to?”

Stiles frowned at her and he opened his mouth, gaping a bit, doing a little guppy thing for a minute, before he could come up with anything. "What are you talking about?"

"What Stiles is trying to say, you've mentioned this Hellmouth before, and I don't think any of us know what you mean." Allison was clearly the diplomat, which made some sense, as she was raised in a hunter family. That was what Willow'd been able to determine from the research they'd been able to get done before coming to Beacon Hills. One of the Argents, old family, supposed to follow the code, old reputation, dangerous to cross, matriarchal but no current matriarch, etc. Boring. Buffy wanted the dirt and she hoped she’d get it. This could be fun, if she played her cards right. 

"Hellmouth is kind of explanatory. Mouth to Hell. Doorway. Opening. Sometimes acts as a beacon. You live in a town called Beacon Hills, come on you guys-"

"A beacon, that's what Deaton-" Scott turned on the sofa to look at Stiles but stopped talking when Stiles punched him in the arm. Also not subtle. Buffy rolled her eyes and said nothing, hoping they’d keep going on their own. Willow set the book on her lap, finger holding her place. Deaton. A name. This was starting to go someplace.

"How did you hear about this Hellmouth anyway?" Stiles asked.

"I'm the slayer. THE slayer. If you aren't familiar, there used to be only one, now there are quite a few, but I'm the head slayer. I'm also part of the Watcher's Council. We keep track of all the supernatural crap that goes on around the world. And when a Hellmouth opens, we notice. Mostly because Hellmouths let out nasty things that cause trouble that we have to fix. We track all the known Hellmouths and when a new one appears, it's a big deal. This is a big deal."

"How big are we talking?"

"600 pound Twinkie big." Buffy looked at Stiles, trying to judge what kind of kid he was, what kind of brain he was working with. 

"Shit," Stiles said, looking impressed, while both Scott and Allison just looked more confused. "It's a Ghostbusters reference, you guys. Seriously? Okay, so this is a big deal. Big enough that you came here. How did you know that we were involved?"

"You guys are about as subtle as a brick to the face. You do 'down low' about as well as Ru Paul. That means badly, Scott. For people who know what they're looking for, you guys stand out like a linebacker at a ballet class.”

“You’re like the supernatural police,” Scott said, starting sound a little excited, like he was starting to get it.

“For lack of a better term, yeah.” Buffy filed that one away. Andrew was gonna dig on that a ton.

“Do you have badges?”

“Badges? We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!” Xander’s fake Mexican accent was atrocious. No matter how many times they watched that stupid movie, it never got any better.

“Watch you stupid show, Xander!” 

"But you didn't know if we did it on purpose- why does that matter?" Allison’s face ws so earnest, it about broke Buffy’s heart. The girl could be a great addition to the Council, if she was interested. If she didn’t already have a good thing going in Beacon Hills. And based on how close she was sitting to her two guy friends here, she just might.

"Like anything, intent means everything. If you drive drunk and hit someone with your car, even if you didn’t mean to, you still have to answer for that, right?" Willow piped up for the first time, her voice steady but clearly on the edge of getting too excited. Buffy hoped that she could hold it together long enough to gain their trust. "Even in magic, what you’re trying to do matters. Paying attention versus not paying attention, trying to help versus trying to harm, those intentions will affect what happens in the future. So knowing that you’re connected to Hellmouth is important but knowing how and why you opened it matters, too. Harm, love, protection- all those things will change how you are affected and how the Hellmouth affects you and where it’s located.”

At that, the kids shared quick glances, eyes meeting, then dancing away from each other. So that was it. Protection of some kind. Loved ones in danger. Something Buffy knew well. This she knew how to deal with. This kind of person she could work with, if she could build a rapport, could build trust.

"Loved ones. You were protecting someone. A group of someones?" She smiled at them, trying to press forward but it apparently was the wrong approach, as Stiles face shut down.

"Why should we tell you anything?" His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

“It’s only going to get worse,” Buffy met Stiles’ eyes when he looked at her, surprised. “You think you can carry this on your own, but you can’t. This thing is only going to grow more powerful the longer it remains open and it will get heavier and heavier on your shoulders until it crushes you under its weight. And then everything in the hell dimension you linked to will be able to get out and enter this world, and there’s not going to be anything that you can do to stop it. Because you’ll be dead. Or worse, you’ll be a demon and you’ll have willingly opened the door and let them in.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles whispered, his voice hoarse, his hands in fists on his knees.

“You think so?” Buffy asked, lips twisted in a mirthless smirk. “Do you really want to risk it? Are you willing to let it get that far?”

“Stiles,” Allison set a hand on his arm but he shrugged it off. Buffy could see that all his muscles had tensed up, the veins in his arms stark against his skin. Scott’s nostrils flared out, his jaw clenched, reacting to Stiles’ anger more than anything Buffy had said as far as she could tell.

“Prove it,” Stiles said, through clenched teeth. “Show me something that proves that you aren’t a liar.”

“So you aren’t feeling a great darkness around you? Seriously? We’d researched it and all the accounts said-“ 

“Willow-“

“What proof do you even have that Hellmouths exist, that they’re dangerous, that they could-“

“Sunnydale was a goddamn Hellmouth. I’d take you down there myself but, gee whiz, it’s a hole in the goddamn ground the size of a town, so they won’t let anyone within a few miles.” Buffy whipped her head around to the entrance to the kitchen where Xander was now leaning against the door frame. The sleeves of his flannel were rolled up to the elbow and he held a beer in this right hand, looking relaxed and collected, if it weren’t for the white knuckle grip he had on the bottle and the thin line of his lips.

“Xander, you don’t have to do this-“ Buffy started, but he cut her off with the sharp slash of his left hand through the air and she stopped, looking to Willow for a clue as to what to do next. Willow shrugged, eyes wide.

“Hellmouths open and they let out the worst things you can imagine and then some. They connect to different hell dimensions and they attract all the nasty things that you dreamt about when you were little and prayed weren’t real. Well, buddy, let me tell you, they’re real, and they want to eat you and your little friend and your mom and your dad and your little dog, too. So if you know something, if you have any information to give, give it. Because if you don’t, you’re killing them all and it’ll be your fault, not mine, not Buffy’s, not Willows. Yours.” Xander pointed at the kids on the couch and took a long drink on his beer, then turned back into the kitchen and disappeared into the darkness.

It wouldn’t matter to anyone else in the room but Buffy and Willow, but it made her feel better knowing it was a non-alcoholic beer. Even though she was pretty sure Xander was wishing that he had the real thing right about then. She thought about Anya, about her love of money, her love of Xander, about her willingness to give life to save the world, and it made Buffy’s chest hurt, just a little bit. Stiles didn’t get it, not yet, and hopefully, if she could knock some sense into his damn fool head, he never would have to know what that felt like, that kind of loss for that kind of reason. 

Buffy looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was late, that if she didn’t get them going, she’d have grounded teenagers on her hands and no one wanted that. No one had given a shit about that when she was in their shoes and it had caused all sorts of problems that she would give anything to be able to solve with her mother. “On that cheery note, look at the time.” 

“Is he lying?” Stiles croaked out, eyes red. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but she could tell that he’d been affected.

“No, Stiles, he isn’t.” Willow stood by the couch, her hand out for Stiles to take, face open and gentle. He didn’t reach for her, reaching for Allison and Scott instead, but Willow didn’t look offended.

“So what do we do? If we opened it, what do we do?”

“Why did you open it?” Willow crouched down in front of him, level with his eyes, close to all three of them.

“We didn’t mean to. We were trying to find out parents. There was a… we did a ritual. A spell, to find our parents. And we knew that if we did it, it might make Beacon Hills a beacon again. We didn’t know that meant-“ Stiles was starting to breathe a little harder, his hands were starting to shake a little bit. His friends closed in on him, which didn’t seem to help but what the hell did Buffy know? Will reached out with one hand, a hand that was lowing, just a little bit, and when she laid it on his arm Buffy could see Stiles visibly relax, just a little, even if he didn’t seem to notice it.

“Who taught you the spell? The ritual?” Willow kept her voice low and her hand on Stiles arm. Scott just looked at her, his face twisted up in a mask of confusion.

“Deaton. He’s an emissary. For werewolves. He warned us but-“

“But your parents are important. You love them. And you had to.” Buffy said the words clearly, so they knew she knew, that she understood.

“Yeah. We had to.”

“I know. I get it. Some things you just have to do, damn the consequences. But, these are the consequences. We’re here to help, okay? You’re not alone. Let’s us help you clean up the mess. There’s a new Sheriff in town.” She smiled the patented Slayer smile at them, the one that tells all the little slayerlings that nothing bad is going to happen to them, that all is well. They didn’t seem to be buying it. 

“Uh, Buffy?” Xander stepped back in to the room, looking a bit better than he had before, the bottle gone, his face looking clearer. He didn’t have the air or despair, either, which was of the good, that was for sure. He did, however, have the look of a man who was bringing bad news.

“Yeah?” She kept smiling but it was harder than it had been thirty seconds before.

“The old Sherriff? Is apparently still in town. And he’s standing on our front porch. With a really big gun.”


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy turned the corner to the entry way to find Xander, with the front door open, and a man in uniform, whom she assumed was the Sheriff, standing with a shotgun pointed at Xander's face. He looked pretty comfortable there- the man, not Xander- the look of a guy ready to shoot first, ask questions later, finger on the trigger. He was cute, too, although Buffy was pretty sure she shouldn't mention that to Xander. (But Willow would appreciate it later. Much, much later.)

"Alexander Lavelle Harris, currently of Cleveland, Ohio, formerly of Sunnydale, California?"

"Yeah, that would be me." Buffy watched Xander swallow slowly, heard him controlling his breathing, knew that he was running through every scenario they had ever come up with when dealing with the police. She was, too. "And you know that how, exactly?" Xander's hands were raised, his voice was steady, but Buffy could tell the gun was throwing him off. Despite all the death they'd faced over the years, guns were not a fan favorite.

"Son, you rented a car under your real name, with your real credit card. Now, I'm not sure what kind of piddly shit police departments you're used to dealing with, but here in Beacon Hills, we don't put up with these kinds of shenanigans. Which is why, if Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, and Allison Argent aren't out here in three minutes or less, I'm going to arrest you, your little friend here and anyone else I find in this house, confiscate any weapons and contraband that I find within, and start asking some very public questions about why a grown ass man spends so much time with teenage girls. Do I make myself clear?"

"If I say 'crystal', would that be too much of a cliche, or would that make me sound like the bad ass that I'm going for?" Xander's voice did that little crack-y thing that he tried so hard NOT to do and Buffy flinched a little bit on his behalf.

“Xander, huh” The Sheriff said, eyes narrowing as he looked Xander over.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lose that eye doing something stupid?” Buffy bristled at the comment, wanting to jump in but there was something that passed over Xander's face that made her pull back and let him handle it. Something that was almost a smile, almost a laugh. Something that almost was happy. Something she hadn't seen in a long time. 

“Like playing with a BB gun, sir?” Xander did smile at that and it hit something in Buffy's gut, low and hard, because it was a real Xander smile, with only a hint of that bitterness that he'd been carrying around with him since Sunnydale, and Anya, sank into the ground.

“That’s what I’m getting at, Xander. You’re quick. Be quicker.” The Sheriff kept a straight face but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth and Buffy realized that he wanted to smile as well. Huh.

“No, sir. Saving the world, sir.”

“Uh, huh.” That was the 'go on, pull the other one' tone that Giles was so good at. Buffy had always wondered if adults practiced that, or maybe parents, but she never found herself doing it. Maybe she'd missed some kind of class or training session at some point.

“We fight vampires.” Xander threw it out there, lobbed it like a bomb. She saw it hit, saw the small flinch in the Sheriff's face but the gun never wavered. She knew, then, that he knew at least a little bit, that he'd been let in on at least a few of the secrets but not all of them. Buffy wondered what would have happened in Sunnydale if the police had known. Would they have helped? Would they have joined the mayor? Had they known? So many questions she'd never know the answer to. 

“Right.” 

“You’ve been read in, I’m assuming?” And there Xander went, trying to take the upper hand. He was getting good at that, his time as Army Guy making him pretty good at it as he got older, his brain getting better at using the training he had to work with the men and women in law enforcement and the military that they ran in to as they did the work the Council required. Xander had been sizing this guy up and now he was pushing the buttons he felt were the weakest ones to get what he wanted. Huh. 

“Recently, but yes. Werewolves.” The Sheriff threw out that little tidbit, his shotgun still high and dangerous. Buffy just wanted him to put it down, to stop aiming the thing at the one guy they had that had never shown a single hint at any supernatural ability, including faster than normal healing or being impervious to bullets. It was making her twitchy.

“Crazy, am I right?” Xander grinned again, and the Sheriff scowled, and Buffy knew that he'd misplayed his hand. She tried not to facepalm herself.

“Xander? Shut up.” The Sheriff widened his stance a bit, his grip on the gun never changing.

“Roger that, good buddy." Xander said, raising his hands a little higher. Buffy kept hers right where they had been, not moving, eyes always looking for the best moment to try to get that gun away from the guy.

"Oh my god, he's a grown version of Stiles," Buffy heard the Sheriff mutter to himself before raising the end of the shotgun a little bit higher. "Speaking of- Stiles! Get out here!"

Willow was there, at Buffy's elbow, as though she had been there all along, watching, when Stiles and his band of minions clattered onto the tile of the entry way.

"Dad!" Stiles came around the corner, still holding his cookie, which was a little worse for wear but still a cookie. Allison and Scott followed behind him, cookies also in hand, Buffy having to stop herself from trying to push more cookies and veggies into their hands. One, she wasn't sure they'd take any, and two, she didn't think the Sheriff would let them take any food from her at this point. He seemed a little shaky on their provenance.

"Dad?" Xander said. "Dad? Are you kidding me?" Xander shot Willow a dirty look over his shoulder, his good eye narrowed. Buffy tried not to laugh. He looked like something out of a bad cartoon.

"Whoops?" Willow said, her face going a bit sheepish as Buffy bumped shoulders with her. 

"The kid's father is local law enforcement, you forget to mention it, and all you can manage is 'whoops'?" Buffy gritted out from between clenched teeth, keeping her hands clearly visible. Stiles being the Sheriff's kid was the kind of info that should have had "share me!" stamped on it like a bottle from Alice in Wonderland.

"Kid, let's go. Out the door." The Sheriff- Stilinski, apparently- stepped to the side far enough to let the kids through but kept his gun on Xander. Stiles and his merry band tromped out the door.

"Stiles, we meant it. We're here to help you. With the Hellmouth and the ritual. Let us." Willow called out. Buffy kept her mouth shut. Willow had been the one to get close to the kid, to help him when he was getting upset. Of the two of them, she'd be the one he'd listen to. Well, maybe. She was also the one that had decided to hide out as his teacher. So, it was a toss up.

"Lady, we'll let you know. But don't call us, we'll call you." The Sheriff pointed his gun at Willow as he spoke, for all the good that would do, and all the anger that would stir up. And then he dropped the shotgun and pointed a finger at each of them. "Watch yourself while you're in my county. No speeding, no breaking and entering, and understand that those kids are underage and any and all laws applying to that will be enforced, including curfews. I know who you are, I have feelers out, I will find out more. Don't force me to make this any harder than it needs to be." He met each of their eyes, then pulled the door closed.

They all let out the breath that Buffy didn't remember holding, making the entry way sound like a wind tunnel.

"That was kind of terrifying. Did that terrify anyone else?" Xander ran a hand through his hair, then down his face, pulling his patch off. His kept his back to them as he talked, never comfortable patchless, not even with Buffy or Willow.

Willow took a few steps towards the door, her arms crossed, face twisted up in concern and not a little anger.

"I don't like guns, Buffy," she said, thunder behind her words. Buffy groaned, taking a step toward her but stopping when Willow raised a hand towards her. "But he's got every right to come here and defend them. They're kids. They were lied to, about the ritual. Even if it was a lie of omission. And someone needs to look out for them. Not everyone coming to ask about the Hellmouth is going to have their best interests at heart. We might not have their best interests at heart, if we're honest with ourselves. We're looking out for the world, but are we looking out for them."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak and stopped, because she realized in the moment it took to open her lips that she wasn't entirely sure. She watched Xander's back as he rubbed his face and reset the eye patch, the muscles in his back moving and shifting, making the Henley that he wore do the same, thinking it would have been really wonderful if there had been someone like Sheriff Stilinski to watch out for them when they had been the same age. Maybe they would have lost less in their lives had someone given that much of a shit about them. 

"You're right," Buffy said, voice soft. She turned back towards the kitchen, thinking about the food she had to put away, the cookies that needed eating, the planning that they had to do for the next few days. "We haven't been thinking about them as kids at all. We've been thinking about them as players, as conjurors in a larger game. They're just kids. That cared about their parents, maybe too much if you asked the old school Council. They did this to save people. Just like we would have."

"Yeah, those jerks," Xander said, face put back together, looking like he'd gotten a hold of himself in those few minutes.

"We need to rethink our strategy here, Buffy. They didn't do this for power or to bring about an apocalypse. I think this really was an accident." Willow just looked sad now, like she was remembering things that were better left not remembered.

"It's easy to do things like that, isn't it?" Buffy said, eyes feeling wet.

"Yeah, Buff. We know it is." Xander reached out to hug her and she let him, his strong arms wrapping around her, the scent of cut wood that never seemed to leave him anymore enveloping her as she closed her eyes and just let him comfort her. "You realize that they're totally us, don't you?"

"Which means they're total idiots." Buffy muttered into Xander's shoulder. He squeezed her a little tighter to let her know he heard her, which only made her feel slightly better.

"Wrap up the veggies, then?" Willow called from the kitchen.

"Oh my god, yes! Don't waste them!" Buffy called back from the warmth of Xander's chest. "Who are we, the Kardashians?"

*

Allison Argent thanked the Sheriff for the ride home, told her father good night, and shut the door to her bedroom, all within the dark haze of the thing that surrounded her. She'd say that it was terrifying if it didn't have an almost calming effect on her. That might be the most terrifying thing of all.

If asked, she wasn't sure she could articulate why she'd shot that bolt at Buffy. No one had told her to, certainly not Stiles. And the fact that neither of them- not Stiles, not Scott- had asked her WHY she'd fired it, had her worried, too.

The darkness had told her to. Not in so many words. Not like something possessing her. Not like something that could be exorcised, at least, that could be removed. The darkness had told her to fire in the same way it had told her where to find the Nemeton during the ritual. All of a sudden, it just was there, the desire to fire, the need to fire, the knowledge that she should. It hadn't felt like her own idea, but it didn't feel like someone had told her to do it either. 

That it could have killed Buffy frightened her. Allison cleaned the crossbow as she dismantled it and put it neatly away, trying not to think about the life she could have taken. 

Although, the way that Buffy had snatched the bolt out of the air made Allison think that perhaps she hadn't come as close to killing as her conscious was trying to make her believe. As she slid the case back into its spot in the closet, Allison began to wonder, what if that had been the point. Not to kill, but to test. To prove.

She pulled her boots off, setting them neatly in the closet as well, standing like soldiers in a row next to the rest of her shoes. Her shirt was a sweaty mess, probably reeking of everything including her bone deep fear, at least to Scott. She pulled it off, along with her jeans and socks, dropping them in the hamper by the door to the bathroom and padded in, flicking on the switch in just her bra and panties.

She leaned in and started the shower, heat as high as she could stand it, then pulled out her tooth brush and tooth paste, taking a long look at herself in the mirror before she really got to brushing. The circles under her eyes had gotten darker, her cheekbones more prominent. Sleep was harder to come by these days. 

The dreams followed her, even if she tried sleeping in other beds, with other people. 

Not that she'd tell her father that.

She started brushing, the same pattern she'd used all her life, the one her mother had taught her as a little girl. It was almost too easy to take comfort in routine. She'd take what she could get. It allowed her to think, though. 

The bolt. Maybe it was a test. A test of skill. Proof for them that Buffy was what she claimed to be, that she had the skills that she claimed to have. It was certainly easier for Allison to believe all that Slayer stuff after seeing her catch a bolt fired 250 feet per second from Allison's crossbow.

She leaned over, spit into the sink, and rinsed her mouth, then her toothbrush. The mirror was starting to steam up, her face obscured, only a dark blob of hair moving underneath all that moisture. Faceless. Allison reached out to wipe it all away, something creeping her out about it, but not feeling even remotely satisfied when, even after wiping the steam away, her face still appeared distorted. 

*

"How did you find us?" Stiles sat next to his father on the front seat of the cruiser, cookie abandoned next to him, arms wrapped around himself, shaking slightly.

"Your backup actually backed you up. Are you surprised about that at this point?" His dad turned in his seat, attention completely on Stiles. Ugh. 

"Who, Isaac?"

"Who else do you think? Derek?" His dad did that eyebrow think that Stiles had tried to master since he was little and that both his dad and Derek (ugh, it was ridiculous) seemed to do with ease. Both Stilinskis laughed at that, sharing a quick glance at each other before the Sheriff turned his eyes back to the front. Sitting in Scott’s Mom’s driveway was not where Stiles wanted to have this conversation but he’d take what he could get. He was just glad that they’d already dropped Allison off at home. "That was pretty stupid, going over there. You didn't know a whole lot about those people. They could have killed you."

"They didn't." It wasn’t the strongest argument. Stiles didn’t have another one to make.

"Stiles, come on. After everything we've been through. After everything you've been through, that's not good enough. Luck isn't good enough. And that’s all that was. Luck."

"Dad, come on."

“Stiles. Stop. Just stop talking. Pretend I’m not your dad. Pretend that you remember what I do for a living and that you respect it.” Stiles watched his dad’s hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles going from white to red to white, over and over again as he opened and closed his hands. A nervous tick. Stiles’ stomach ached. He hated what all this did to his dad, to their family. 

“I do, Dad. I respect-“ Stiles topped talking when his dad held up one finger, lips thin and pressed together in a line. “Sorry. Stopping now. Zipping it.”

“I know that you’ve done a lot of things. That’s you’re accomplished, if you want to call it that. But, you are seventeen. You know a lot of things. You are very smart. You have abilities that, god, kid, I have no clue how to explain. But. You are still a kid. You are still my kid. And luck is not enough. From now on, I need to know what you’re up to.” He held up his hand as Stiles opened his mouth, cutting off the argument before Stiles could even start it. “I’m not saying that I have to approve everything, because god knows that’s never going to happen. But you need backup, more than just Isaac Lahey or Derek Hale. You need to promise me, Stiles, or I don’t know if my heart can take it.”

Boom went the dynamite. God, his dad was good. The one argument that Stiles could NOT fight against. Stiles looked down at his feet, willing the tears back in his eyes and failing, letting one roll down his nose, another down his cheek, to his lips, where he licked it off, his face tight where it was wet. He nodded first.

“Yeah, Dad. Yeah, I can do that.” He turned his head just slightly, then eyes back to his feet. His father’s hand, broad and warm and callused, landed softly on the back of his neck, squeezing softly then. Stiles sniffed, wiping at his face, rubbing at his eyes, trying to hide the rest of the tears that were flowing at a faster rate now.

“Stiles, it’s okay.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Stiles asked, choking a little when he realized that he’d actually said the words out loud. 

“We got through the worst thing in the entire universe together, didn’t we?”

Stiles looked up sharply, finally meeting his father’s eyes, to see that they were shiny and bright, tears there to match his own. His dad’s right hand was still on the back of Stiles’ neck, but his left was on the steering wheel and even in the dark patrol car, Stiles could see the shape of his father’s wedding ring on his ring finger.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, mouth dry. “We did.”

“Then what could they possible throw at us that could beat us?” The smile his dad gave him was shaky and Stiles knew it but it was an effort that even a few years ago he probably wouldn’t have even attempted.

“I have no idea,” Stiles said. 

“So, trust me on this, kid. Just trust me and let me help. I love you.” And then Stiles was getting pulled in so his dad could kiss the top of his head like he was five or something. He leaned in to it, pressing his face to his dad’s shoulder, letting his dad wrap his arm around him, taking comfort in it, because he could.

*

The drive home had been quiet but not uncomfortable. As weird as it had been for Stiles to have his dad know about werewolves and all the other weird shit that went bump in the night (and the day, to be completely honest), it had cut out almost all of the lying. 

His dad had dropped him off at home and Stiles had thrown the stupid cookie away, then gone upstairs to take a shower. Ever since the ritual, he felt cold all the time, like he’d just stepped out of that tub of ice water, his bones aching with it. His shower time had taken on a length that bordered on ridiculous so he was glad that his father wasn't home to hear how long it took him to get clean. They'd already had one conversation about it, he wasn't ready for another.

Dressed and covered from head to toe in cotton (because it was comfortable and he needed comforting, damn it), Stiles decided he needed to at least try to do some research on the whole Slayer/Hellmouth thing. Sure, he had homework but at this point, his homework didn't have a high enough percent of a chance of actually killing him. He curled up on the computer chair, legs crossed on the seat, laptop on the desk, attention focused.

Like a lot of his research into the supernatural, it took a lot of digging to figure out what the code words were to understand just what he was reading. You couldn't just plug in "Vampire Slayer" and get what you were looking for in the top Google searches. The more he searched, the further down into the rabbit hole he fell. Which was why he never heard the window open.

"So I hear you met a Slayer." Derek moved like a cat, making almost no sound, silent enough that Stiles jumped about a foot in the air, enough to throw him out of the chair. He half caught himself on the desk, his ankle hooking on the arm of the chair, leaving him hanging precariously about a half a foot from the floor.

"Jesus GOD, you about killed me." 

Stiles could hear Derek sigh, even over his own harsh breathing, and Derek seemed to make a point in making his steps heard as he walked over to the desk to help Stiles back into the chair. Only after he'd fixed his sweatshirt and pants so they actually covered the proper body parts did Stiles bother to look Derek in the eye. Stiles twisted in the chair a few times, drawing it out a bit, trying to pull back a little bit of control. Like usual, it didn’t really work.

"Stiles." Derek did the eyebrow thing. It was less sexy when Stiles connected it with something his father did. Gross. Still, there was something about it. Derek had that face. Stiles wasn’t thinking about it. 

"Yeah, Jesus, I met a Slayer. Apparently there are a ton of them. Girls, lots of them. You'd freak out." Stiles held back a giggle when Derek shifted on his feet a little, a light flush of pink appearing across his cheeks.

"I've met a few. Maybe this one. What was her name?" Derek tried to act like he didn’t really care but he had that tone to his voice that Stiles had come to understand meant that Derek actually cared quite a bit.

"Buffy." Stiles gave it that Valley Girl twang, but he watched Derek like a hawk.

"No, never met her. I'd remember a name like Buffy." Relief. Derek was relieved. Huh.

"Yeah, hard to forget that."

"You know, a guy like Stiles should be careful whose name he makes fun of." Derek sat down on the floor, his legs crossed loosely. It was close to the most relaxed Stiles had ever seen him when Derek wasn’t knocked out, unconscious.

"This coming from a guy named Derek." Stiles turned back to his laptop, pulling up the OneNote page he’d started collecting all his data on.

"This may just be a case of mutually assured self-destruction." 

"Where did you meet your Slayer?" Stiles said, changing the subject. 

"New York. Laura and I, we had to meet up with the local alpha when we moved to town within a certain period of time, and she was meeting with a Slayer and a representative from some Watcher's Council-"

"Yeah, they were mentioning something about that-" Stiles’ fingers flew over the keyboard, trying to get down everything Derek was saying. More words were coming out of his mouth than Stiles was used to, they needed to be recorded in some capacity.

"Yeah, it's some group that governs the Slayer, or used to. I guess the original Council got wiped out. The Slayers are the Council now." 

"Sounds like the inmates are running the asylum. Is that a good thing?" Stiles looked to Derek, who looked back with a ‘who, me?’ face and a shoulder shrug.

"You're asking something that Slayers used to slay, so I'm not sure my perspective is really something you want." Derek looked away, hands resting on his knees.

"They used to come after werewolves?" Stiles’ stomach dropped and he felt sick. Scott. They’d sat on Buffy’s couch. In her living room. She could have killed him, right there, and Stiles took him there, into the lion’s den. He was going to be sick. Derek sat up, eyes narrows. Stiles turned back to his laptop.

"Well, not usually. Slayers are called VAMPIRE slayers for a reason. I think they left the werewolf hunting to the Argents and their ilk for the most part, but I remember hearing stories about family and other packs running into slayers over the years. There were stories of werewolves taking out a slayer but they were few and far between, and usually it was after a treaty with something else."

"Like a vampire." Stiles sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his head. He closed his eyes and did it again, focusing on the sensation of hair under his fingers. 

"Or something else less savory." Less savory. Stiles’ eyes popped open. The supernatural just kept getting better and better. Derek looked away, his face taking on that guilty look he had, the one that made no sense because even Stiles understood that Derek Hale wasn’t responsible for everything, no matter how much Derek wanted to blame himself for the world’s problems. 

Stiles swallowed, his mouth dry, even though the feeling that he was going to puke still hovered, wet and gross at the back of his throat.

"What does this Buffy want here?" Derek asked, voice rough but persistent. Stiles took a moment, swallowed, then tried to answer him. He gagged for a second, fought it back, then tried again.

"Apparently, when we did the thing,” he stopped to breathe. Derek made the face, the ‘hurry up before I make you hurry’ face. Stiles scowled back and flipped him off, feeling slightly more solid afterwards. “We did more than just light up the beacon on Beacon Hills. We opened what she called a Hellmouth-" Derek sat up at that, his body suddenly stiff, like Stiles had hit him with a million volts of electricity.

"What did you say? What did she call it?"

"She called it a Hellmouth? What? What do you know? You obviously know something, something more than Deaton knows or knew, because he certainly didn't tell us that this was a possibility when we did the ritual-" Derek was off the floor, pacing, agitated at that, which had Stiles blood pressure up. Derek upset was, actually, pretty normal, but it meant that bad things were coming. Bad things were happening. Stiles was tired of bad things. They didn’t usually end well for him.

"Hellmouths are trouble, Stiles, serious, serious trouble, if they're real."

"What do you mean, if they're real?" The darkness surrounding him pulsed out with that, began to fill him, like water in a pitcher. He could feel it in his fingers, in his toes, flowing over him like a second skin. Cold, deep, over and through him. He felt connected, all of a sudden, connected to something else, something beyond himself. To Allison and Scott. And something he couldn’t name but couldn’t get rid of.

"I'd always heard that they were legends, stories that they told us as kids to scare us into following the rules-"

"Fairy tales for werewolves?" Stiles tried to make it come out somewhat normal but his voice still shook.

"Yeah, something like that."

"But if what Buffy and her little pals are saying is true, then they aren't fairy tales, they're true." The wheels in Stiles’ brain kept spinning, so, hands shaking, he went to the pages of research he’d done earlier, some of which actually seemed legit. 

"Or part of them are true, it's just a matter of figuring out what parts are true and what parts aren't, which could be the hardest part of the whole deal."

"It's just research, right? We've done it before. Buffy said that there are other Hellmouths, that there was one under Sunnydale. That's what sucked the town down, not just a normal sinkhole. No big."

"No big- Jesus, Stiles, if you did open a Hellmouth, we're in real danger. Just leaving Beacon Hills won't get you away from the danger. Whatever comes out of the Hellmouth will follow you. It will come out of the hole and it will hunt you down until it finds you and takes what it wants."

“Overdramatic much? You should audition for Daytime TV.”

“Stiles-“

"So what does it want?"

"That depends," Derek said slowly, looking at Stiles, his eyes dropping from Stiles eyes to his mouth and pulling slowly back up to meet his eyes again, "On what decides to come out of the Hellmouth. But I can guarantee that you won't like it, whatever it is."

"Research," Stiles said, his voice as shaky as his hands, but his resolve much, much firmer. 

Derek reached out with one hand and gave Stiles' shoulder a gentle squeeze. It wasn't even close to reassuring, and was, in fact, like something out of the Twilight Zone in its weirdness.  
"I think we need to go back and talk to Buffy and her Sunnday friends, get more information from them."

"We can't torture them, Derek. And it's SunnyDALE. Dale."

"Who said anything about-"

"It was all in your tone-"

"I didn’t have a tone-"

"You ALWAYS have a tone. Don’t even give me the eyebrows. You always have a tone. We can't, because she's the Slayer and according to all my research, plus what I saw when I was at her house, she will break us like matchsticks. Plus, my dad already threatened them with a shot gun, it was awesome. I think we just need to have him go with us, take the gun, ask a few questions, and boom, answers. Easy peasey."

"Easey peasey." Derek smiled, just a little, and Stiles’ stomach fluttered a bit. The cold surrounding him receded for a moment, his cheeks warming. Stiles hoped he hadn’t gone totally pink.

"You got it. Also, that sounded awesome coming out of your mouth."

"Stiles, shut up."

"Also, I'm not sure how much effort we'll need to get information out of these people. I mean, they came here to talk to us, to find out stuff from us. We might just need to ask and they'll tell us."

"I don’t think that's how it works, Stiles. I mean-"

"Not everyone is like you, Derek. Not everyone-"

"Stiles." Derek threw one leg over the window sill. Stiles had given up on him ever using the door. It was a lost cause. Although it was pretty late and Mrs. Hill was super nosy. On second thought, the window was probably the smartest choice.

"Okay, yeah, we're going to need my dad. I'm not sure why I even thought otherwise. I'll check his schedule."

"Oh, sure. Check his schedule. We'll just have tea and cake while we wait for something terrible to come out of the Hellmouth." And then he was gone. Stiles turned back to his computer. They'd been fine so far. What could possible happen in the next few days that they couldn't handle?

*

They looked like kittens. They had what looked like soft white fur with golden eyes and cute pink noses. Only the fur wasn't actually fur, it was what amounted to razor thin scales that could slice through steel like it was paper. And the pink nose? It was covered in a thin pink goo that ate through whatever it touched, the goo apparently some kind of acid more powerful than anything Lydia had ever seen up to that point. 

She really wanted to try to collect some to study, but at this point, the only thing they could determine that it didn’t eat through was the nose of the beast itself, as they had already seen it eat through glass, wood, and the hood of Derek’s new car.

The other odd thing was that they were the size of horses. Like, really, really big horses. Clydesdales, really, the kind from the Budweiser commercials, but they looked like kittens. It was like a five year old girl's nightmare had vomited on Beacon Hills. Which Stiles guessed was a pretty accurate description of a Hellmouth. This was something from a Hell dimension, for sure. 

Stiles’ arms were cut to shit, his shirt sliced to ribbons, blood everywhere. Scott was bleeding, too, as was Allison, if Scott's anger and dismay was any indication of her status. Lydia, precious, dear Lydia, seemed to be fine, her dress immaculate, but her hair seemed slightly out of place. She was a bit out of sorts and was making that known to the rest of them, which made Stiles roll his eyes.

"If she doesn't shut up, I may have to knock her out just to keep my own sanity," Derek muttered.

"I might let you," Stiles said, voice just as low. He thought he saw Derek grin, just a little bit before Derek's face morphed into his wolf face and any human expressions he might have had seconds before were erased.

"Are we allowed to kill kittens, even giant killer ones?" Isaac shouted as he sprinted past, his fangs giving him a bit of a lisp.

"They're demon hellspawn, Isaac, what the do you think?" Stiles shouted back, still unsure how Scott and Isaac hadn't ended up dead when they went out alone together, the sheer lack of common sense between the two of them astonishing.

"But they're so-" One of the demon kittens swiped out with a paw, catching Scott with a claw, ripping down his arm, splitting the skin, blood spraying across Stiles face in a hot arc. Scott bit back a scream but Stiles knew that he'd wanted to. He could feel Scott's pain in his own chest, had felt it down his own arm, had felt Scott's anger well in his own gut. The connection that he had with Scott, with Allison rose up, chocking him like bile in the back of his throat. It was only Derek's hand on his arm that kept him from stepping forward into the path of Hell’s Kitteh, keeping him from actually getting swiped by a claw across his own stomach.

"If you say cute, Isaac, so help me, I will gut you myself," Derek said, growling through werewolf teeth. Stiles wanted to thank him, wanted to grip Derek's hand in his own and tangle their fingers together and let him know that Stiles appreciated not having to kill Isaac for being an idiot because he just didn’t have it in him today. The amount of relief he felt was that strong.

Stiles legs went out from under him for a second, his vision completely blacking out then tunneling back in, Derek's arm catching him around the waist, keeping him from hitting the ground. Then Derek was moving forward, propelling them towards the tree line, away from the action.

"What just happened?" Stiles managed to slur out, his mouth suddenly unable to form proper sentences. 

"I think Scott, or Allison, just took a hit. My money’s on Scott, but I'm not sure. Whoever it was, they're connected to you and it's taking you out of the game as well. And I think the cats know it." Derek, never stopping, pointed with his free hand. Stiles could see the giant kittens, all of whom were watching as Derek dragged him away from the fight. Their eyes glowed an eerie green, their heads turning to follow him, even if their necks had to twist 180 degrees to keep their eyes on his face.

"Oh, god, I think I'm gonna puke," Stiles groaned, and pressed his face against Derek's leather jacket, the smell both comforting and sad. 

"Don't puke on the coat. I just got it cleaned. Leather is a bitch-"

"So cliché, man, don't you have anything new? I mean, really?" Stiles managed to get that out before they hit the tree line and Derek caught his boot on a rock, sending Stiles flying. 

Stiles managed to get a hand out, and grab a tree before he really hurt himself. His fingers gripped the bark, pressing in to the dark wood, missing the warmth of Derek. Then he puked, hitting his own shoes and Derek groaned from behind him, where he was laying in a heap of his own on the ground. 

"Great. Gonna smell that all the way home."

"Shut up. Shouldn't you go back and fight off the evil kittens or whatever?" Stiles tried to spit and found he had none left. Fantastic.

"Not sure fighting them will help. Did you call Buffy?" Derek’s desire to not fight left Stiles momentarily speechless but eventually he found his words.

"I'm assuming that she and the wonder non-twins have already figured out there's a problem but yeah, I called. No answer. I left a message." Stiles pulled himself up to his knees, balanced, then slowly lowered himself back, so he was actually sitting down on his ass, trying to avoid the grossness that was his shoes. It felt only slightly more dignified. 

"Great. Crime fighting in the 21st century." Derek mirrored his position, resting his forearms on his knees, snorting loudly after he spoke, hair sticking up at all angles.

"Would you rather there be no voicemail or answering machines? Because thirty years ago, that would have been an option." Stiles coughed, spitting out some seriously gross junk that came up, nothing he recalled eating and nothing he'd ever coughed up before. He wondered if that was what real ectoplasm looked like. The part of him that was the soul brother to Lydia's scientist wanted to save some for researching later but realized that was a bit too… Egon for the current circumstances and determined that it was better to just hope that he'd just cough up more later. If he made it to later.

"What are they even doing here?”

“Who?”

“The giant cat things! Looking for giant cans of tuna? Stopping off to use the demonic litter box? Belly rubs?"

"Only from people with fiberglass hands."

"Have we determined that fiberglass can actually touch these things?"

"No. We haven't. And we aren't putting anyone close enough to that thing that we can test it out." Derek pointed a finger at Stiles, eyebrows narrowed till they practically touched over his nose. If stills couldn’t still hear the sounds of his friends fighting, he’d laugh.

"No one? Really? You aren't willing to do it?"

"No one, Stiles. Not even I'm dumb enough to get close enough to try that science experiment." Oh, the things Stiles could have said about that but would refrain.

There was a snapping sound, from the opposite direction of the fighting and Derek's ears perked up, then his whole head before there was an even louder crashing through the trees. Derek was crouched in front of Stiles, wolfed out, claws at the ready, before Stiles could even think to object.

"Heard you were having a party without us."

Buffy. Oh, Joy.

"Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail," Derek growled. Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"No hard feelings. I brought prezzies." Buffy looked like she'd walked out of a fashion magazine, which made Stiles think she and Lydia would get along swimmingly. She hooked a thumb behind her, hitchhiker style, and Stiles looked back, just then noticing her partners in crime. Willow dressed like she had at school, earlier in the day, down to the chalk marks on her dress. Xander appeared to be carrying-

"Is that-," Stiles started, his voice cracking.

"A bazooka? Oh, yeah." Buffy grinned. She looked less than stable. "Useful as hell. Especially when you mix in some magic mumbo jumbo crap. Will, you ready?" Willow looked over at Buffy and Stiles noticed her eyes had gone completely white. Her hands were glowing and around her for about three feet the wind stopped blowing. It looked like someone had pressed the pause button on everything except Willow herself.

"Yep!" Willow's voice sounded like she'd had one too many lattes, chipper and excited, like this was all a big game. Like it was fun. Stiles looked from her, back to Buffy who was still standing there, smiling. And, apparently, holding an axe that was at least half her size. How had he missed the axe before?

"Xander?" Buffy looked straight at Stiles as she asked the questioned and winked. Xander just raised the bazooka to his shoulder, pointed it towards the clearing, adjusting his stance.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Buff."

"Now, wait a second, Buffy. We still have friends over there," Stiles said, trying to stand up but discovering that his feet, calves, and knees had all fallen asleep while he was sitting on the ground, and now didn't want to support his weight. His arm and his chest still hurt and his head was throbbing. Something else, something from deep inside, was pulling down on him, keeping him down on the ground and no matter how he fought it, he couldn’t make himself stand up.

He looked over to Derek, trying to put all his desperation on his face, but he couldn’t be sure if it was working.

"Trust me, Stiles, they'll be just fine," Buffy said, turning her back on him. Ignoring him. She was going to kill them all. 

“They won’t, not if you blow them up!” Derek snapped at her, trying to get her attention, but she ignored him, too. He snarled, face wolfing out but it was clear that she was used to things like that because she didn’t even flinch. 

A voice inside Stiles whispered, _if she kills them, I’ll rip her apart, piece by piece, with my bare hands. And I’ll enjoy it._

“To where they belong, to where they belong,” Willow kept chanting in a voice that sounded both deeper and higher, like it was a thousand voices all at once. Like a song. Stiles was drawn to her and repelled from her at the same time. She was terrifying.

“Now, Xander. Do it.” Buffy pointed, not even looking towards the clearing. Stiles face was wet. He still couldn’t move.

"No, wait!" Derek said, moving much faster than Stiles could ever hope to, even when he was at the top of this game. Derek dove at Xander but Stiles saw him fire the thing before Derek made contact.

"Fire in the hole!" And then everything went gloriously white.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bear, the love of my life, for coming up with 'Hell Kitteh'. He's not a fan of either show but he sat and listened to me tell him about this story, and that scene, and gave me feed back. He's the Shrek to my Fiona and I adore him. <3


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